UrJ 685 
.M15 
Copy 1 



Looking Backwards. 



By WILLIAM H. MACKEY, Sr. 



Also a Sketch of Mrs. Anna E. Mackey. 




Reprinted from Volume 10 of the Kansas 
Historical Collections. 



STATE PRINTING OFFICE, 
TOPEKA, 1908. 






D. of D. 

JAN 3 1918 



LOOKING BACKWARDS. 



Written for the Kansas State Historical Society by William H. Mackey, sr. ' 

MISS ZU ADAMS, assistant secretary of the Kansas State Historical 
Society, has kindly requested me to give a retrospect of my early expe- 
riences in Kansas, which I will do to some little extent. I am not much 
struck on writing of myself, of what I have done, or left undone, but will 
write of the interesting experiences I have had in the West. 

Our company of about sixty per- 
sons was organized in Cincinnati, 
Ohio, and at Covington, Ky., about 
equal numbers from each place. - We 
chartered a steamboat, the Express, 
at Cincinnati, to take us to Ashland, 
Kan., early in April, 1855, and made 
the trip to Westport Landing, now 
Kansas City.^ On reaching there we 
could get the boat no farther, as there 
was not water enough in the Kansas 
river to float it, so we let the boat go 
back east, and hoofed it over the 
country to our destination. Quite a 
number of the company bought oxen 
and wagons. I remember of getting 
a meal at Journey Cake's, but we did 
not sleep there. I killed two prairie- 
chickens near the Shawnee mission. 

With some others I came out over- 
land with James Ryan and his family 
of wife and two children. One of 
Mr. Ryan's children died the evening 
we arrived at the Lawrence town 
site. We buried the remains the william h. mackey. sr. 




Note 1.— William Henry Mackey was born in Cincinnati. Ohio. September 15. 1828. His 
father, William Mackey. was born in Scotland, and his mother. Elizabeth Henry, in Virginia. 
He was married to Anna E. Boher. at Covington. Ky., July 20, 1853. by Rev. J. J. Hill, ol the 
Methodist church. A portion of his boyhood he served in a printing-office, but the trade he 
finally adopted was that of carriage-builder. They celebrated their golden wedding July 20. IPOS. 
He died in Junction City at 8:05 p. M., Wednesday, February 26, 1908, seventy-nine years and five 
months of age, His wife and four children, William H. Mackey, jr.. United States marshal for 
the district of Kansas, Miss Ella Mackey, Mrs. J. E. Clemen.=, and Milton Mackey, are still living. 

Note 2.— Johnson S. Williams, of Manhattan, has recently given the Historical Society the 
record-book of the Kentucky Kansas Association, the company referred to by Mr. Mackey It 
contains the names of eighty membsrs. Just when the party reached Kansas is not shown, but 
a receipt dated "Ohio river. Steamboat Express. March 27. 1855." shows that at least the locating 
commissioner, N. B. White, and probably the pioneer committee, C. L. Sandford, J. S. Williams. 
H. J. Adams, M. Weightman and Franklin G. Adams, were on their way west. The account of 
these six, in the handwriting of the last named, is folded in the little volume, as is also a plat of 
the town of Ashland, which had been filed in the probate court of Davis county August 22, 1857, 
as attested by E. L. Patee, clerk. The records of the Ashland Town Association are also written 
in this book. 

Note 3.— Our oldest child. Georgia Alice May Mackey. died on the boat April 8. 1855, the day 
before we reached Westport Landing. She was nearly a year old. We were both old enough to- 
take things as they came, but it was hard for my wife. She remained at Westport Landing for 
nine weeks, during the cholera epidemic, and nursed a number who died of cholera. She had no 
fear of it. 



4 Kansas State Historical Society. 

next morning near where we camped. Mr. Ryan also brought out our pro- 
visions. 

There may have been some pky-scrapers on the Lawrence town site when 
we passed through, but the only one I recall was a sod house, with bunks 
for sleeping purposes, cooking and housework being done on the outside. 
We journeyed along west until we found some men cutting house logs on 
the river bank. They told us they were intended for a house on the Topeka 
town site. That was the first we heard of Topeka. But we did not tarry 
at that place, for we had another place in view, the town site of Ashland, 
about fourteen miles southeast of Fort Riley. We camped at a mill, I think 
Bourassa's, one night. When we arrived at our destination we found those 
who had preceded us camped on the river bank below the cottonwood trees. 
The wind was blowing, the sand was flying, and the female portion were 
rubbing their eyes and crying, and declaring that they were going home, 
which a good many did. One man built a raft of logs, put his family on it, 
and "lit out" for the mouth of the river. How he got away from that 
place I have no knowledge; but the most of the company remained. I built 
a log house on our town site, with the assistance of my good lady, who took 
hold of one end of a six-foot saw in order to make clap-boards for the roof- 
ing. Well, we thought that fun. But we put up the house and moved in, 
which was not much of a job, for our household goods had not arrived. But 
we enjoyed every bit of it, and still smile when we think of it — Mrs. Mackey 
coming out of a large millinery store in the East and taking one end of a 
six-foot cross-cut saw. It at least shows the mettle in her make-up. 

While we were building our house we boarded with M. D. Fisher and 
family. There were several other families boarding there at the same time. 
We occupied a room on the first floor. Our furnishings were not numerous 
but answered for the occasion. The building was a log house, probably six- 
teen feet square on the inside, with roof and dirt floor. There were facings 
split out of cottonwood timber for the facings of the door, which had not 
been put on, as they had no boards for the door ; instead we used blankets. 
The facings we used for a bedstead by placing them end to end across 
one side of the room, and with cut poles on this frame and the whole thing 
covered with prairie grass, it made a comfortable sleeping-place. This ar- 
rangement was for the married people. We arranged it so that one lady 
could go to bed at one end, the husband next, then another husband, then 
his wife, and so on. I think the bed held several families, there being only 
one family 'that had children. The single men slept outside when the 
weather was good— and it seldom rained in the early settlement of Kansas. 
We thought we were entirely out of the rain belt, but one evening the 
clouds looked threatening, and those that usually slept outside brought their 
blankets in, expecting to sleep on the inside. But when the rain came there 
•was a sluice of water about five inches deep on the floor, and consequently 
they did not do much sleeping that night. Some of the outsiders had been 
brought up in luxury, and though this was a change for them, they all 
seemed to enjoy the frontier style of living. They all remained and did 
well, and some became very prominent in making this state what it is to-day 
—a banner state. 

In September, 1855, I took charge of the smith shops at Fort Riley. At 
the winding up of the cholera at the post, and after Major Ogden's remains 
were taken up and sent east, I put an iron railing around the grave to mark 



William H. Mackey, Sr. 5 

the place. To-day there is a nice monument on the lot. During August, 
when cholera was prevalent there, I visited the post daily. 

In December I left Fort Riley, intending to locate in the city of Leaven- 
worth, but instead bought of a Mr. Whorton his shop and good- will in the 
town of Easton, twelve miles west of Leavenworth, where I did a good bus- 
iness for four years. The place was so tough that we left at the end of that 
time. We arrived there the third day after the murder of Captain Brown,* 
and it was shooting, cutting and killing all the time, so it was not a very 
pleasant place to live in. While there our eldest son, W. H. Mackey, jr., 
now United States marshal for Kansas, was born, July 28, 1856. 

When I sold out we returned to Covington, Ky., and spent the winter, 
but being dissatisfied, returned to Kansas. When I left Easton a man near 
town owed me a big bill. I went up to his place before breakfast and got a 
bunch of cattle. These I took down to Leavenworth and sold, but prices 
were so low that I did not average over forty dollars a yoke. One yoke of 
young cattle I could not sell, and paid twenty dollars to a man to winter 
them. When I came back, in the spring of 1860, the Pike's Peak emigration 
had commenced, and I sold the youngsters for $110. 

On our trip from Fort Riley to Leavenworth county, in December, 1855, 
the only means of traveling at my command was by ox-team. The snow 
was two feet on a level from Riley to Leavenworth, and the cold was in- 
tense. But we were younger then than now. There were two men in our 
traveling party, the man who owned the team and myself, together with 
my wife. We could only travel a short distance each day, so when we struck 
a cabin any time in the after part of the day where we could be accommo- 
dated we would stop for the remainder of the day and night. But we often 
put up where our meals were limited. For instance, at the stage station at 
Rock creek, where they were supposed to furnish something for the comfort 
and welcoming of man, we found only corn flapjacks and milk. Their teams 
had gone to Leavenworth for supplies but had not returned. The next day 
we struck the Pottawatomie reservation, and to put up at one of those old 
French stopping-places was a treat. We lingered all through the reserve, 
although it was a little expensive. We had had no vegetables that winter 
except one bushel of potatoes that were frozen harder than cobblestones, for 
which I had paid $2.50. We used them, nevertheless, and were glad to get 
vegetables of any kind and at any cost. But we struck it rich at old Chief 
Le Fromboise, at Silver Lake. We remained there several days and feasted. 
The old buck had two wives and a big family all at home. But he certainly 
was a good provider. 

Our next stopping-place was Big Muddy creek, Jefferson county, at a 
one-room house. The family consisted of a man and wife and children of all 
sizes. When I asked for entertainment the host said, "Oh, yes." I looked 
around and saw no sign of anything to eat. There was but one room for all 
of the outfit, with pigs taking up a big portion of the space. I thought it 
looked a little squally, for naturally everything was covered with dirt. The 
good lady commenced to get supper by putting the children to doing the 
churning. It was too much for one of our party. He elbowed the little 
ones from over the churn and finished that part of the work. In the mean- 
time the lady had been out to a hole in the ground and brought in a nice. 

Note 4.— Rees P. Brown, of Leavenworth, was killed the night of January 18. for participa- 
ting in an election held at Easton, June 17, for state officers under the Topeka constitution. 



6 Kansas State Historical Society. 

fresh ham. With that and hot biscuits and good coffee, we fared nicely. 
All the men and children slept on the floor, and with the comradeship of a 
few pigs all kept warm. The two ladies had the use of the one bed. That 
night the landlady had some prairie-chickens dressed, or undressed, and put 
into a stew-kettle and set them in the corner of the big fireplace, where 
they cooked slowly all night. They were the best-cooked chickens I ever 
ate, before or since. 

This trip was just the initiation we needed to enter a new territory, and 
now we could say we had had experiences about all sides of life. It was a 
tough trip, but it was the breaking in that we needed. I shall always look 
back to it with real pleasure. I think to rub up against the rough corners 
of the world is the very best education we can get. 

Col. James A. Harvey came through Easton, Leavenworth county, with 
his free-state company, in September, 1856. Franklin G. Adams was one 
of his men. When I heard they were coming I told the storekeeper, John M. 
Gallagher, whose wife, by the way, is still living, to treat the men to what- 
ever they wanted in the way of refreshments, sardines, crackers, cheese, 
tobacco, etc., at my expense. At that time and place we couldn't run into 
a restaurant and order refreshments. When the pro- slavery military com- 
panies came through Easton the head of a whisky barrel would be knocked 
off and tin cups hung around the brim. Although I was a free-state man, 
and my neighbors knew it, my having come from Kentucky to Kansas was 
greatly in my favor among them, there being but four of my way of thinking 
in a community of Southern sympathizers. 

Harvey's company took all the good horses from the pro-slavery settlers 
about Easton. James Willoughby,^ who had a sawmill on Stranger creek 
run by horse-power, saw his horses' traces cut and the horses led off by the 
free-state boys. Reverend Oliphant, a Campbellite preacher, who lived on 
a farm about a mile and a half from town, lost a fine horse, which evidently 
escaped from her captors and returned to her owner some days later. Al- 
though the free-state men had only followed the tactics of the pro-slavery 
men before them, I felt sorry for my neighbors, who were kind to me. 
When Thomas A. Minard, the leading free-state man of our community, 
suggested that we ought to try and recover the animals, I offered to accom- 
pany him. He said the Easton people could have kept their horses if they 
had not been cowards. He decided to get two of the pro-slavery neighbors 
to go with us. I went 'up to the house to see my wife, and said: "Anna, 
I'm going off for a few days, but will come back all right." She did not 
like the idea, and said I was going off to get into trouble. 

I took an early lunch and we started out. Jim Roberts and Josh Turner, 
pro-slavery men. were our companions. When we got about six miles out 
of Easton we met William F. Dyer, of Osawkee, driving towards town with 
his wife. He was a good man, though he differed from me in politics. We 
told him we were going to get some stock back that Harvey had taken. He 
said he would go back with us, but his wife said "No you won't." So they 
drove on towards Easton We rode on until we came to where Winchester 
now stands, and got down on the grass to rest by the log house and well, for. 

Note 5 —The volume of Kansas claims published in 1861 contains affidavits by the adminis- 
trator of the estate of James Willouprhby, from whom mules and harness to the amount of $1300 
were taken by Harvey's free-.state company about the 8th of September. 1856. Willoughby had 
operated a horse sawmill near Easton. He had died in May, 1S57. leaving- a wife and two chil- 
dren. Marshall H. Comstock, of Easton, was one of the witnesses. 



William H. Mackey, Sr. 7 

although it was September, the day had been sultry and we were tired. 
While we were lying there a company of Georgians and South Carolinians 
came up from a ravine near by. We kept quiet, for we knew we could not 
escape if they wanted to capture us. We were unacquainted with any of 
the party. They questioned us, found we were free-state men, and then 
the leader said, "Consider yourselves under arrest." He then got off his 
horse and stepped in front of us, and inquired of each of us our names. 
When he heard Minard's name he took some papers out of his pocket and 
selected from the bunch a commission as captain of a free-state company made 
out in Minard's name. It had been found in the house of a Mr. Donaldson who 
lived between Winchester and Holton. He asked Minard if he was the man. 
Minard acknowledged the commission, but said he was not always straight, and 
that it had been given for that reason to Donaldson. ( Minard was sometimes 
given to drink, which cost him the loss of this commission.) The paper 
damned the whole party. Our horses were taken from us. The Captain 
started his men and we were ordered to fall in behind. We were taken to 
Hickory Point, and stopped for lunch at a tavern kept by H. A. Lowe, 
formerly forage-master at Fort Riley. His military friends had recom- 
mended this station to him as a convenience to them and a place of profit to 
him. He was an immense man, and was sitting on his porch in a great chair 
made of two-by-four lumber, as we camp up. He came down when he saw 
me. I had been in charge of the smith shop at Fort Riley and had become 
as well acquainted with Captain Lowe as with any one in the territory. I 
was glad to see him. He shook hands with me and asked my politics. I 
told him I was a free-state man. He turned on his heel at my reply and 
never spoke to me the rest of the day. 

We were given a mock trial, found guilty of being spies, and condemned 
to hang. Lowe's house was a double cabin with a porch in front. The 
halter-ropes were hung up underneath this porch. Lunch was then called. 
We were taken in and seated at the first table, but we had small appetites. 
As I went in I noticed as a guard at the door a South Carolinian about seven 
feet tall and as thin as a match, and thought if he was cut in two in the 
middle he would make two men. On the table, stuck into a ham, was a 
long-bladed butcher-knife. I resolved that on rising from the table I would 
grab the knife and make an effort to fight _my way out. I knew they would 
shoot us, but that would beat hanging. If we remained quiet we would 
certainly hang. Just as we got through eating. Bill Dyer, who had left his 
wife at Easton and returned to go with us, came up. Our captors told him 
they were going to furnish a little fun by hanging us. He said, "No, I '11 
be damned if you do," and told them to bring up our horses. As he was 
the leading pro-slavery man of that county they obeyed him, though with a 
bad grace, and stood open-mouthed when we rode away. We left Hickory 
Point immediately, and proceeded towards Lawrence by way of Lecompton. 
On reaching Lecompton I went up to the hotel and to bed. I slept all night, 
and after an early breakfast we proceeded towards Lawrence. We met 
Governor Geary and his escort on the road. He inquired who we were, 
evidently seeing that we were a mixed company, and told us to go on and 
behave ourselves. Any one with one eye could tell a pro-slavery man as 
soon as he saw him. 

At Lawrence we found that Harvey's camp was about a mile from town, 
and went out to it. There I found M.r. Adams, and had an introduction to 



8 Kansas State Historical Society. 

Colonel Harvey, whom I had already met at Easton. He told us to come to 
him in the morning, and that we should then have all of our horses that we 
could identify. We then returned to town and found all was in a hubbub. 
An expedition was being gotten up for Hickory Point to reinforce Lane. I 
wanted to go with the company, as we would tfien be with Harvey in the 
morning. But as I was really too ill to travel the men induced me to wait 
over. The next morning we started on, crossing the river at Lawrence, in- 
tending to go home, as Harvey had gone to meet Lane, and taken the horses 
we had hoped to recover. I was miserable and too ill to travel far, so that 
my party decided to leave me at a house on Buck creek in southern Jeffer- 
son county. When I awoke the next morning a woman was standing over 
me. I asked her where her husband was. She replied that he was hiding 
in the brush, which convinced me that they were free-state people. After 
eating a bowl of chicken broth I felt greatly revived, and continued my jour- 
ney on horseback, cutting across country in the direction of Easton. 

When I was about three miles from home, I heard some one call, " Halloo. " 
I looked about but could see no one. Soon the call was repeated, followed 
by my name. I then saw a man's head sticking out of the bushes near me, 
and upon investigation found it was my partner, James Comstock,^ a free- 
state man who was too outspoken regarding his abolition views. A pro- 
slavery military company had been organized in Easton during our absence, 
headed by Capt. Marsh Comstock, a citizen of the town, and my partner 
had been run out of Easton the night before— Saturday night— and was in 
hiding. He told me it was worth my life to go on to town; that I was pro- 
scribed. I made light of his warning, but he insisted that I join him in the 
brush. As I was about to continue my journey, he called my attention to a 
party on horseback on the brow of a hill at some distance, and said that was 
the party that was hunting for me, and that I had better take his advice. 
I took to the brush at once. I was ill, and as soon as I could picked my way 
to Josh Turner's house and went to bed. 

My wife was in great trouble about me. John M. Gallagher, who had 
promised me to look after her wants during my absence, tried to induce her 
to eat her meals, which she refused to do. On Sunday she went a half mile 
up the road to the boarding-house of Tom Minard, thinking that if we came 
that way she could warn us that Captain Comstock 's company had threat- 
ened to kill us if we returned to town. While she was at Minard 's gate 
with WilHam, our son, in her arms, Mr. Oliphant rode up. She asked him 
what he thought of our not coming back. He replied, "I do not want to 
discourage you, but I believe they are every last one killed. They have be- 
come so hellish on both sides that I think they have all been killed." There 
had been fighting at Hickory Point the day before, and the pro-slavery com- 
pany had talked of going up to help their side, but they had got drunk and 
remained in town. Josh Turner let Mrs. Mackey know where I was by 
Monday morning, September 15, and as soon as I could be moved I was 
taken home, and was sick in bed for three months. 

Soon after I was taken home Henry Simons, a young wagon-maker in my 
employ, a nice fellow who made his home with us, was chased through our 
house by a party of ruffians. Later he crept up to our window and told my 

Note 6.— James Comstock, of Easton. made an affidavit before the committee to adjust 
claims for losses during the Kansas troubles of 1855-'56, in which he claims that Capt. A. B. 
Miller took from him a horse worth $110. — Report, 1861, pp. 1485, 1487. 



William H. Mackey, Sr. 9 

wife to roll up his clothing in a bundle and put it down on the creek bank, 
where he could get it, as he was going to leave the country, and that if let- 
ters came to him to send them to him at a certain address. This we prom- 
ised to do. Later two of our pro-slavery townsmen, Samuel J. Kookogey, a 
clerk and constable, and J. C. Pearson, who seemed to be friendly, offered 
to escort him beyond the danger line, and departed with him. We received 
mail for him for at least a year after he left, which we forwarded as re- 
quested, and answered the replies from his friends. We finally came to the 
conclusion that these two pretended friends had taken him away and killed 
him. His only fault seemed to be that he had served in an artillery company 
in Lawrence when he had been run out of Easton. 

While I was living at Easton I had a man by the name of Evans working 
in my shop. He was married to a Southern woman. In order to keep him 
and please his wife, I fitted them out with household furniture enough to 
make them comfortable, and bought his wife a pony. It was the custom 
for women in those days to ride about on horseback. Farmers rarely had 
buggies. C. C. Linville, a carpenter of Easton, was given to telling mean 
stories, manufactured from whole cloth, about his neighbors. He told one 
on Evans's wife which so enraged Evans that he threatened to kill him. He 
went home, got his revolver and started to hunt up Linville, whom he met 
on the road, and asked if he had told the story. Evans drew his pistol at 
Linville and Linville knocked it up. This feat was repeated by the two 
five times. Then they both turned and ran. They left town permanently. 
Evans's wife went to him later, and this left the household goods and pony 
unclaimed in the town. To secure myself, I decided to attach them, and to 
do this was obliged to go down to Leavenworth, not a very safe place for a 
free-state man. I started on horseback. As I approached Leavenworth on 
the Salt creek road I noticed a group of Kickapoo Rangers approaching the 
town on the road from Kickapoo. I wanted to escape their company, which 
I should surely have done had I not reached the junction of the two roads 
before they did. Still I did not dare to appear afraid, and they soon came 
up with me. The leader accosted me with a question as to my name, and 
another where I came from to Kansas. To the latter I replied "From Ken- 
tucky," which seemed to satisfy him, at least for the moment. 

I was not much of a talker, but I kept him talking on non-political sub- 
jects until we reached town. Here I soon selected a vacant lot to lariat my 
horse, and the rangers rode on, none the wiser in regard to my politics. I 
then walked on into town, had my dinner, and was looking for the office of 
a justice of the peace, when the leader of the rangers again met me. 
and remarked on a disturbance going on at the levee, suggesting that I go 
down there with him. We found a steamboat just coming in leaded with 
pro-slavery men who had been "fighting Jim Lane" so they said. I was a 
little timid about meeting any pro-slavery man I knew, on account of my 
abolition sentiments, which were pretty well known among my acquamtances. 
The first man to step off the boat was one whom I had often done work for, 
and was on good relations with. I called him by his first name, Elihu ( I 
do not remember his last). He always called me "Old Kentuck," which he 
did this time, greeting me with great cordiality, being about half drunk. I 
told him what I wanted. He took me under his charge and conducted me to 
. the office of R. R. Rees, then an elderly man, and told him that I was a 
friend of his and to help me to anything I wanted. Rees made out my pa- 



10 Kansas State Historical Society. 

pers and as I started to go asked if I was armed. I told him I carried none. 
He said it was too dangerous times to go unarmed, and pointing to a pile of 
guns in the corner of his office told me to select the best I could find. Fear- 
ing more to offend him than the dangers I might meet on my homeward way, 
I went to the pile and selected the least rusty one, and provided myself with 
a few cartridges and caps. I found my horse and took a cut across the 
country for home, avoiding the roads. When I got out as far as the gov- 
ernment farm I dismounted and hid my gun, etc., in the grass by the fence. 

Some years afterwards, while living at Junction City, having taken the 
first degree in Masonry I took my wife with me to a public installation. 
Who should I see sitting on the platform but my old friend Rees, the justice 
of the peace of Leavenworth county in 1856. His visit to Junction City 
was in 1862-63. I did not make myself known to the old gentleman, as I 
did not care to refresh my memory of border days. 

In March, 1865, I went to Fort Lamed and took charge of the smith shops 
at the post for the quartermaster. Each company had a horseshoer to do 
post work, so I had nothing to do for the companies unless they came with 
an order from the quartermaster. This was when freighting with New 
Mexico was done with Mexican teams, and no train was allowed to pass 
Lamed with less than fifty wagons, and then they were allowed an escort of 
soldiers to take them' to the line of Mexico. I had the privilege of doing 
their repair work while they were at the post, which was a pretty fat job, 
as my pay went on at the same time. 

About this time there was a company that came to the post, I do n't know 
where from, we called the "galvanized company. " One of the officers of this 
company was a Dutch lieutenant built like a beer keg, and very pompous. 
He came to my place one day and, tapping me on the shoulder and pointing 
out his horse, ordered me to shoe the same, and left the shop. When he 
returned, he found his horse where he had left him, and not shod. He came 
into the shop snorting. I told him I had no time to shoe his horse, and he 
left. In the afternoon he came back and told me his horse was outside, and 
he must have it shod. I then told him to bring me an order from the 
quartermaster. He said, "No, I will get one from the commander of the 
post." which he did. As I was working for the quartermaster, I did not 
recognize his order. The next morning he came in and handed me a five- 
dollar gold piece and asked me to shoe his horse, which I did, and would 
have done on his first call if he had not commanded me to do it. So you see 
I always get some mirth besides pay for my work. 

In the latter part of August the commanding officer, I think Colonel 
Cloud, sent four messengers out to Fort Zarah, about three miles east 
of where Great Bend now is, on the east bank of the Walnut, a half mile 
above the mouth. They were attacked by Indians. I think they must have 
been surprised at Ash creek, the first stream north of Larned, as the arrows 
indicated, and started back to the post, but there was but one got in to re- 
port. The garrison was called to the parade-ground immediately. I was 
standing in the door of my adobe hut as a chap was passing. I thought he 
looked as though he did not care for that trip. There were not many sol- 
diers to go out, so I hailed him and said I would give him a two-dollar-and- 
a-half gold piece for the use of his horse, and would take his place in the 
ranks. He threw me the bridle and I took the horse and was off with the 
squad of men 



William H. Mackey, Sr. 11 

Three miles east of the fort we found the first body, literally filled with 
arrows. About two miles further on we found another body filled with 
arrows, the hands taken off at the wrists, the feet taken off at the ankles, 
the heart taken out, and the head scalped. The third body was found 
within about 500 yards of the crossing of Ash creek, filled with arrows, 
hands and feet taken off, the head skinned and heart taken out and laid on 
the body. About a hundred yards off a wolf was scampering off with one 
hand. One of the men shot the wolf and we got the hand. While we were 
gathering up the last body we spied the Indians making a dash for a train 
that was just passing Pawnee Rock. We made a dash for them. The train 
formed its corral at once, and the Indians, seeing us coming up on the oppo- 
site side of the corral, bore off to the Arkansas river and we after them. 
But they had too much advantage in the start, and were all on the opposite 
bank kmong the sand-hills by the time we struck the river. We returned 
to the Rock and escorted the train into Larned. We had our dead with us, 
which were buried next day with military honors. 

During the summer I bought a bunch of cattle, mostly calves, some of 
which were too young for a long trip, so I left the cattle until the latter 
part of November. I left the fort in October. On my return for the cattle 
I met one of my townsmen, Mr. G. E. Beates, at "Oxhide," a noted camp- 
ing-place. Mr. Beates was in charge of a freighting outfit for Messrs. 
Streeter & Strickler, of Junction City. His train had stopped for dinner on 
their return from Larned. He tried to persuade me to not attempt to go 
farther, as I was alone. He said it would be almost impossible to pass Cow 
creek without being taken in. But I had no intention of turning back. I 
continued to the west, passed Cow creek, and nothing happened. That 
night I camped at Fort Zarah, and next. day lit out for Larned. When 
within a couple of miles of Ash creek I began to think of the Indian raid in 
the summer previous, and the more I thought of it the more my hair wouW 
raise. Finally I thought I saw any number of the heads of Indians along 
the creek bank, and began to think of my running the gauntlet. I had a 
splendid pony for cattle, but I knew he was not fast enough for Indians, 
and as I saw just the heads of the enemy above the tall bluestem and they 
did not move, I was satisfied they had me spotted. I made up my mind to 
go on, and when I saw them make a move I would slide off the pony and 
take to the grass. Meanwhile I was closing up on them, and finally got so 
close I could see they were stumps of trees that had been cut for use at the 
fort. So the fright left me and I went on to the fort and proceeded to 
gather up my cattle. 

The second day after my arrival I started the cattle just at noon, and at 
dusk I had only gotten to the lower crossing of Pawnee river. But I had 
the cattle pretty well worn out, as well as myself, and while I was rounding 
them up rain commenced to fall and the wind began to blow; then it changed 
to snow. I knew it would not do to make a fire, for that camp-ground was 
a favorite resort of the Indians. So I tramped and rode around the cattle 
all night, mostly to keep from freezing, for the rain and snow kept up most 
of the night. The next morning I started out and had no trouble. The 
third night out I made camp about two miles east of where Great Bend is now 
located. The next morning about daybreak the ground began to tremble, 
and the vibrations increased so that for a considerable time I thought a heavy 
earthquake was on; but the vibrations seemed to pass, and by the time it 



12 



Kansas State Histoyncal Society. 



began to get light I realized that it was a tremendous herd of buffalo just 
over the bluff to my left. Finally they made their appearance east of me, 
coming around the point of the bluff, and made direct for the Arkansas 
river, w^hich vi^as not far off. By this time it was hght enough for me to see 
them plunging into the river. I could not leave my stock to go and investi- 
gate, but I know there must have been hundreds of them drowned, for they 
went pell-mell over the bank into the river. I made the round trip without 
accident. I met my friend, Mr. Gurdon E. Beates, on my return. He re- 
marked that it could hardly be done the second time so successfully, but I 
had no occasion or desire to repeat that feat, for I never thought myself a 
very brave chap. But I had my cattle home. 



SKETCH OF MRS. ANNA E. MACKEY. 

(Wife of WiLLIAL H. Mackey, sr.) 

Written for the Club Member, by Mrs. Alice Peckham Cordry, of Parsons, Kan. 

"She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. 

"She stretcheth out her hand to the poor ; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy." 

" Her children arise up and call her blessed." 

IN thinking of our friends there is always some characteristic in looks or 
manner we recall as soon as their name is mentioned. Sometimes it 
is the eyes that seem best remembered; or the mouth or the smile that 

means the most to us. Again it is 
the hands, be they pink and soft, or 
rugged and knotted by hard work, 
that touch the heart strings most as 
we think of some dear one. So it is 
when I think of my dear friend, Mrs. 
William H. Mackey, sr., of Junction 
City. The thought of her dear, lov- 
ing hands, that have given me so many 
sweet and happy hours, brings lov- 
ing thoughts of her; for she is "the 
friend who smiles when she smooths 
down the lonely couch, or does other 
kind deeds. ' ' Hundreds of people she 
has thus blessed since her coming to 
Kansas in 1855 will truly say, 
"Blessed are those beautiful hands 
and the loving heart that prompts 
their every action. " 

Mrs. Mackey is a native of Penn- 
sylvania, and as Anna E. Boher was 
born in Shippensburg, in that state, 
November 25, 1830. At the age of 
MRS. ANNA E. MACKEY. sixteen she moved with her parents 

to Covington, Ky. , where later she met and married her husband, William 
H. Mackey, July 20. 1853. Five years ago this month they celebrated their 
golden wedding in Junction City, and in the State Historical rooms at the 
State-house hangs a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Mackey and two of their devoted 
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Geo. W. Martin, taken at this time. 




Mrs. Anna E. Mackey. 13 

The love of Mr. and Mrs. Mackey for each other was truly ideal ; and it 
is only the hope that soon the good King will send for her to come to the 
"beautiful country" and be with her loved one that enables her to bear 
with patience his death, which occurred February last. Hand in hand for 
over fifty-four years— one in hope, love, and sincere trust in the Father of 
all— they came through pioneer trials as gold from the refinery. They emi- 
grated to Kansas in the spring of 1855, members of the Kentucky-Kansas 
colony. The chosen route was down the Ohio river and up. the Missouri, on 
what was then called a "high- water boat." They left the the boat at 
Westport Landing, now Kansas City, Mo. Sorrow overtook the young 
couple on the boat in the death of their little girl baby, only a few months 
old. The little body was buried in Westport, and, after the home place was 
decided on, Mr. Mackey returned to remove the remains, but imagine their 
sorrow when no trace of the grave could be found. The many deaths so 
soon after of the victims of the cholera made the people very careless about 
marking the graves. Six weeks were spent by Mrs. Mackey in Westport 
getting things together for their new home in central Kansas. They lived 
in a house of two rooms with some friends. It was then that the terrible 
epidemic of cholera raged, and Mrs. Mackey, having no dread of the disease, 
became a welcome nurse to many of the sufferers. And her hands— dear, 
beautiful hands— did many acts of mercy. She has said that during the 
prevalence of the disease sleep was almost impossible, as the sound of mak- 
ing rude coffins was heard at all hours of the night and day. 

At the end of six weeks the Mackeys started with five friends for Ash- 
land, the town established for the new colony. Their wagon was drawn by 
mules, and the weather added nothing to the pleasure of the trip. At one 
time they were lost on the prairie, and for hours they wandered with no 
idea of location. When ab\out to give up in despair they found a pole fence, 
and it appeared to them the most beautiful thing they had ever seen, and 
the most welcome Following this they came to a lone cabin, and the in- 
mates set them on the right road to Ashland, where they finally arrived in 
1855. Here during the summer months they tried to make a home, but it 
was rough pioneering. They met for the first time the terror of prairie 
fires. All the corn they could raise was sod corn, and it was not very large 
or plentiful. Mrs. Mackey soon learned to make bread by first grating the 
corn. Housekeepers nowadays think it is hard to make bread even with a 
bread-mixer and a fireless cooker. 

Mr. Mackey was a blacksmith and carriage-builder by trade, and in Sep- 
tember left Mrs. Mackey with friends in Ashland and went to Fort Riley, 
where he was foreman of the smith shops. Before his going to the fort 
cholera had raged there for a time. 

The little town of Pawnee, where the first territorial legislature was held, 
was within two miles of the fort, and when the government survey was 
made it was found that the town was on government land. The houses 
were ordered to be removed from the town site, and some were torn down 
over the heads of those who would not comply with the order. Mr. Mackey 
was wont to say that he forged the iron hooks with which the United States 
officers tore down the offending buildings. Tiring with what he thought 
tameness in the land, he went to Ashland for his wife, and December found 
them in Easton, a small town twelve miles northwest of Leavenworth. 
There he found plenty doing, and anxious times were the lot of his poor 



14 Kansas State Historical Society. 

wife for a while. Mr. Mackey, being a free-state man, found many enemies 
there. In the spring of 1856 the present United States marshal for Kansas, 
Mr. W. H. Mackey, jr., appeared on the scene. After hearing the story of 
his mother's hardships during those troublesome times, one will understand 
where the marshal gets his bravery and his Sherlock Holmes keenness for 
criminals. 

On one occasion, at Easton, Mrs. Mackey and baby, with a hired girl, 
were left alone while Mr. Mackey and three other citizens of Easton fol- 
lowed Col. James A. Harvey's command in an effort to recover the horses 
recently stolen by the free-state company from the citizens of Easton. A 
few days after Mackey 's party had left, the girl went to the spring for 
water and there met a friendly pro-slavery man, who told her that Mr. 
Mackey would be killed if he returned home. The girl told Mrs. Mackey, 
and the wife at once began to plan how she could save her husband. She 
finally took her baby on the arm, and with steps quickened by the thought 
of her husband's danger started for Minard's, on the side of town she 
thought her husband would return. Meeting a Campbellite minister, her 
burden was made heavier by his prophecy that her husband and his com- 
panions were probably already killed. Staggering along with sorrowful 
heart she at last reached her friend's home, and there grieved for her loved 
one, until the next day an old man came to her with a message from Mr. 
Mackey. 

His escape from his enemies at the time was almost a miracle. He and 
his partners had been eating their dinner and resting their horses in a grove, 
when suddenly they were surrounded by a gang of pro-slavery men. The 
latter wasted little time, held a mock trial, and had ropes ready for the free- 
state men, when a friendly pro-slavery man, a friend of Mackey 's, ordered 
the thing to go no further, and the would-be lynchers let the free-state men 
go. Before he could get home he was taken very sick, and sent his wife 
the message that was so welcome to her. She gathered up a few belong- 
ings, and with the baby and her faithful girl went to where her husband 
was, and nursed him back to health. Before this was accomplished though, 
other trials came that showed Mrs. Mackey's mettle. The free-state men 
of the neighborhood had all been obliged to leave Easton at this time, and 
the women had all gone to Fort Leavenworth for protection. Mr. Mackey 
was too sick to be moved, so Mrs. Mackey and her girl stayed with him. 
Mrs. Mackey planned her line of defense in case the ruffians should come to 
bother them. She had the girl bring in a store of wood and fill the tubs 
with water, which she kept boiling hot, to throw on any one who dared to 
disturb them. She says she is glad that no one came, for she surely would 
have used it if they had. When the new governor and his proclamation 
made things more safe, no one was happier than Mrs. Mackey. 

Another interesting story she tells is of the pursuit of a young man who 
worked for Mr. Mackey by the pro-slavery crowd. One day he came hur- 
riedly in the front way and, scarcely pausing a moment, asked her to put 
his clothes out on the bank of the creek that night as the "hellions" were 
after him, and passed on out of the back door. Soon a crowd of men ap- 
peared at the front door and wished to search the house for him. This Mrs. 
Mackey allowed them to do, and delayed them all she could. That night 
the boy came to the window and told them good-by, and said he would 



Mrs. Anna E. Mackey. 15 

write to them if he reached a certain place alive, but he was never heard of 
again. 

Seemingly worn out with so many troubles, the Mackeys went back East; 
but she said they could not get a breath of air there, and so came back to 
Kansas. This time, in 1859, they took up a claim six miles east of Manhat- 
tan, and lived in a double log house with friends till theirs was finished. A 
company was trying to build a new town, Kosciusko, and they pursuaded the 
Mackeys to live on the town site to prevent a man from jumping the place. 
The log cabin, partly built, had no roof, and so they set up their high-poster 
bed and covered it over with comforts from post to post. In spite of this, 
in the morning the bed was covered with snow, and it was bitter cold. Hap- 
pily a neighbor remembered their plight and came and took them to his 
house. 

In this same December they moved to Junction City, where they have 
lived ever since, except the years from 1885 to 1888, when they lived at 
Manhattan while their daughters attended college'. Mrs. Mackey is the 
mother of six children, four of whom are living: William H. Mackey, Ella 
R., Mrs. J. E. demons, and Milton, all of whom live in Junction City, near 
or with their mother. For forty-five years she has resided in Junction City, 
and as a member of the First Methodist church, of which she and her hus- 
band were charter members, she has lived a life of true Christian piety. 
Every one loves her, and she has always been a friend of rich and poor, 
through health and wealth, in sickness and in trouble. Always ready to do 
for others, her dear hands are blessed forever. She has watched the state 
grow from a desert peopled with a quarrelsome lot of wanderers to the most 
beautiful, prosperous and united commonwealth in the Union, and we say 
she has done what she could to make it so. And as the time draws near 
when she will go to the "Beautiful Country," she may be comforted by the 
thought that the good she has done in this wonderful state will live after 
her, and she will not be forgotten. 

Mrs. Mackey died at the residence of her son-in-law, Mr. J. E. Clemmons. near Junction City, 
Thursday, August 13, 1908. 



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